Something different this week blog fans. I’ve been on an adventure!
A few weeks ago, work decided that it would be a really great idea if we all slogged up to RAF Cosford for a seminar. Ohhh I hear you all saying, a seminar, won’t that be nice! Well, for a starters don’t be fooled, from what I know of seminars, it’s just another name for a collective bollocking, or the chance for the management to foist their latest stupid ideas on us, whilst trying to sell it as good for the environment/planet/whales/insert trendy topic of your choice. What’s this got to do with anything though I hear you thinking? Well, bear with me, because, whilst everyone else in the office was moaning like the devil about having to slog all that way for no real reason, my little brain was thinking ‘H’mmm Cosford, that must be about 150 miles away, I wonder if I could go by bike’. A quick look at the map confirmed that my initial mileage estimates were about right. But, whilst 150 miles is achievable in a day, someone somewhere decreed that cycling kit isn’t suitable attire for a seminar, so I was going to have to take a load of clothes with me, and 150 miles in a day with Panniers and a load of extra weight isn’t much fun. But what about splitting it over 2 days? A bit more Googling found 2 cheap Travelodge rooms, one in Worcester for on the way there, and another, just outside Stratford on Avon, for on the way back, making it a much more appealing proposition, and a far better idea than having to drive and suffer the delights of the M40, M5, M6 shenanigans!
Looking at the weather forecast during the week, I wasn’t so sure that my brilliant idea was actually as brilliant as I first thought, but having already got wet so many times this year, another couple of times was unlikely to kill me. And unlike the last couple of weekends, there wasn’t going to be an escape option this time. In for a penny, in for a pound, what's the worst that can happen?
Saturday, it looked like the forecasters may have got it wrong, because it was a beautiful day, which I took full advantage of by getting out early for 10 miles of running along the frosty, then foggy, then sunny local trails, with the conditions covering all 3 extremes in the space of 90 minutes, but enough about that, I Know that all you want to know is how wet did I get on Sunday? Well, you’ll be pleased to know that the answer is very, but not as wet as the weekend before, which whilst I think about it was so wet that when I cleaned my bike on Friday afternoon I could still hear water sloshing around in the rear wheel. On removing the tyre there was a good cup full of water trapped between the inner tube and tyre and in the wheel rim, which when you consider that the inner tube expands to fill the entire space within the tyre is pretty impressive, and something that I can only think of happening once before, when I’d had an equally wet day out!
But enough about that, let's get back to the tale in hand. Sunday morning, it appeared as if Saturday's sunny day had never existed, with the dawn bringing an unwelcome return to rain laden skies which could barely hold back the weight of water contained within the low scudding clouds.
There was no chance to wimp out this week though, it was all or nothing. Having learned my lesson last week I was fully prepared with all the waterproof kit when I set off from home just after 7. There’s not much to say about the first few hours. The rain held off for a while and moving steadily along familiar roads as I headed towards Hungerford before skirting the edge of Swindon to head into the Cotswolds, it was an enjoyable morning. As forecast though, by mid morning the rain had made its presence felt. Not the torrential downpours of the past couple of weeks, but a steady drizzle that persisted throughout the remainder of the day.
With the rain a constant companion, the views through the Cotswolds were somewhat restricted, but with the miles ticking steadily along it was easy to gauge progress by the changing terrain and the changing stone. Hampshire flint gave way to Cotswold limestone, before that in itself was replaced with Worcster sandstone.
It’s the little things like that which you notice as you cross the country by bike that make it such a special way to travel. You see things that you would never see from the motorway at 70MPH. But from the saddle, every hill, valley, village, town, country road and track has something to offer and something to occupy your thoughts. By mid afternoon the Cotswolds were behind me and I was making steady progress through the flatter lands of Worcestershire, heading for the day's destination at Worcester. Apple orchards replaced rolling arable land as I made my way through villages familiar from last year's Easter adventure when I followed the same route, heading for Oswestry. The weather had been better on that occasion, but despite the rain I was still almost disappointed as Worcester rolled into sight and the warmth and comfort of a bargain Travelodge room beckoned for the night.
Sunday night, as I lay warm and safe in my hotel room the wind roared around the building and the rain continued to fall. Monday morning dawned no better with repeated blustery showers darkening the skies as I had breakfast and made ready to leave.
Blustery winds, sunshine and showers set the scene for the day's ride, but with only 50 miles to go I was in no rush. A few easy miles along the Worcester and Birmingham canal allowed a pleasant and easy escape from the city, setting the scene for most of the day. Quiet traffic free lanes, pretty little towns and villages, and a strong cross tail wind to push me towards my destination. What's not to like about that? In fact there was nothing to not like about Mondays miles. Apart from one brief shower the rain stayed away, the strong wind was dragging warm air from somewhere to the south and the temperature was positively tropical for the time of year, and whilst the roads were muddy and wet, I was warm and dry. Result!
Wednesday's work day dragged intolerably on, as I watched the clock, patiently waiting to get on the road. 16:30 finally arrived though and I set off into the dusk heading for Alcester and my planned overnight stop.
There’s not much to say about those 50 miles in the dark, except to say that riding into the night was as magical as ever. Progressing steadily along dark roads and lanes, the odd house, windows curtained, doors firmly closed against the night, throwing shadows onto the road as I silently pass. Owls call in the distance, unseen creatures disturb the roadside undergrowth, as they go about their business. The pace is always slower in the dark, you can only see so far ahead no matter how bright your lights are, but the slower pace feels faster nonetheless. No visual clues to suggest mileage, no distant hills to work towards, just the hum of tyres on the wet road, the gentle brush of your clothing, the odd rattle from the panniers as you rattle over some unseen hole in the road and the pool of light that guides the way, never to be caught. The increased resistance and the road climbs and you start changing down gears the only indication of the terrain you're crossing. Work down the gears, still climbing, heart rate climbing, but there’s no more gears left to go down. A few pedal strokes out of the saddle to stretch tired muscles, and the climb continues in the dark. The tops unseen in the darkness, manage the effort, keep the breathing under control, strong, steady pedal strokes, how much further, no idea. And then the effort reduces, the unseen incline must be lessening, but is it the top, or just an interlude. In the daylight it would be easy to see, but in the dark, it’s just another guess and piece of the mysterious world you're passing through. In this instance it is the top, and the speed quickly picks up as I descend the other side. No time to relax though. Back up the gears to maintain control, start braking to scrub off some speed, there’s too many unseen obstacles in the dark to let the bike have its head. And so it continues. The 50 miles to my night stop take exactly 4 hours and that includes a stop to pick up some tea and bits for breakfast. Not fast by any stretch of the imagination, but as I get into bed, it’s with a sense of satisfaction at a job well done and some more magical memories to look back on when I’m too old and frail to “play out” any more
An early start Thursday morning saw me on the road just after 07:00, destination home, mainly via the same route as I took on the way up. It was a pleasant morning too. No wind to speak of, the sun made the odd appearance, and it was warm enough for just a body warmer, instead of a full jacket.
Once the early morning traffic had cleared, and I’d had words with the dozy idiot that pulled out of their drive right onto me, “Sorry mate I didn’t see you”. I’m glad I’m wearing a dayglo jacket and got all my lights on then, and it’s a good job I saw you! The roads were quiet and dry, allowing for good progress. The Cotswolds looked magnificent in the autumn sun. Beech trees, their leaves still bravely clinging on against the recent storms, golden yellow, adding majesty and colour to the browns and dark greens of the roadside fields. Church spires, the only sign of villages nestled in the valley bottoms hinted of hidden villages to investigate, whilst Kites circled and wheeled overhead, calling to each other in the still Autumn air. This or a few hours sitting in traffic on the M5, that’s an easy choice to make! A portion of chips sat on a park bench at Highworth provided sustenance for an afternoon in the saddle and I made it back as far as Hungerford before the rain made a reappearance. Not heavy but gentle drizzle, adding to the puddles lining the roads and necessitating a return of the rain jacket. The rain didn’t manage to spoil the day though and I was back home again just before 16:00, tired, dirty, damp, but happy. One thing’s for certain, if you’ve got to go to a boring old seminar, it’s far better going by bike than car, even if it does rain most of the way! Oh, and that's another 300 miles added to the years total!
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Right, a joke’s a joke, and I can take a bit of humour as well as the next man, but I’ve had enough now! Since the middle of September, I’ve been on 7 Audax’s (The End Of The Lines and Wye Gravel, The Ticking Tortoise, The Mid Sussex Hiller, The End Of Summertime and this weekend The Upper Thames and with the exception of The Ticking Tortoise, where it was only drizzling, it’s absolutely thrown it down with rain for all of them! And for the one before that at the start of September (The Morris Major) it was so hot that only a few of us actually started, for fear of heatstroke! I mean, seriously, how can it only rain at the weekend? Looking back through my diary at work, I’ve gotten properly wet commuting to work 13 times so far this year, and on the weekends, it’s 11 times. Now, considering that I commute to and from work every weekday, but don’t cycle every weekend, and there’s 5 days in the week and only 2 at the weekend, that must mean it rains a lot more at the weekends than it does during the week! And how can that possibly be? I’m guessing from my little rant above that you might have gathered that I got a bit wet this weekend again! What you might not have guessed is that for only the second time in my Audaxing career, and the second time in as many weeks, I DNF’d (Did Not Finish) again on Saturday, and I’m bloody annoyed with myself about it! Saturday was the Upper Thames 200KM Audax, which is a cheeky little jaunt around the edge of the Chilterns and the Cotswolds. Now I’ve done this ride a few times over the years, and I can’t think of a single occasion where it didn’t rain at some point in the day, but that’s never stopped me before, and it’s always a good day out. This year though the weather in the last couple of weeks has been pretty dire and the forecast for Saturday during the preceding days had been for more of the same, so rain wasn’t unexpected. Unsurprisingly then, Saturday morning I woke to the sound of rain falling steadily on the van roof, each and every drop of which added to the puddles already on the roads and the rivers cascading off the fields, which is never a good sign when you've got a 200KM day in front of you. By the time I’d had breakfast and made my way to the start it was still raining, and the skies showed no signs of clearing any time soon. The few unhappy looking faces at the start and the table full of uncollected Brevet cards seemed to echo the grey skies outside, and if I’m honest, I don’t think I’ve ever seen such despondent looking faces and general apathy to start a ride as I saw on Saturday morning. As we stood in the rain waiting for the 07:30 start time, it was clear that this was not going to be a pleasant morning. Eventually though 07:30 came and we slowly departed, heads down, shoulders hunched, each probably wondering, as I was, what the hell we were doing. Rivers ran in the gutters, puddles the size of small oceans hid potholes the size of open cast mines, sharp shards of flint mixed with mud and general debris coated the roads, each laying patiently in wait whilst valiantly trying to find a way in to puncture a tyre, and still the rain fell from the sky like a shower in full flow. Within minutes of our departure the rain had penetrated my gloves and filled my boots with cold, dirty, water, and the cold, absent in past weeks, had started to penetrate my defences. Battling up the first of the days climbs against the river which was flowing strongly down the hill restored a bit of warmth, but I was certainly already colder than I had been for many months, which is never a good sign when you're only a few miles into a long day. Pushing on, trying to stay warm, as I approached the first of the days checkpoints the rain eased, and I’m even tempted to say it may have stopped for a few minutes. Any relief was short lived though, as minutes later I was wheel hub deep in a small lake, the filthy water filling my boots again as I fought my way through the flood water, whilst trying valiantly not to fall off in the knee-deep ocean! By the time I reached Henley I was really starting to feel the cold, and spotting a small supermarket I stopped in search of washing up gloves to add under my cycling gloves in a last-ditch attempt to warm up my hands. Pulling on washing up gloves which are at least two sizes too small (that's all they had) onto soaking wet, freezing cold hands, is no mean feat, I can tell you. But having managed to get them on, at least my hands were sort of dry at last, and as I set off again it was with renewed hope that I might make it through the day. Minutes later, those hopes were cruelly dashed as the rain returned with a vengeance as I made my way slowly up the long slow climb past Stonor Park to regain the high ground of the Chilterns. This time however, the extra energy expenditure of the climb failed to work its magic, and the cold continued to seep slowly and inexorably into my core. Approaching the top of the climb a handily placed shelter hove into view and I pulled up in another vain attempt to get warmed up again. Knowing the weather was going to be against me, I’d packed a spare pair of dry socks and an extra top, and I took the time to get out of my wet socks and into some dry ones, adding a couple of plastic bags that I'd acquired at my earlier stop, before putting my sodden boots back on in the hope that they may keep the worst of the water off my new dry socks, and donned my extra (emergency layer). As we all know, what goes up, must come down, and shortly after the climb came the long, fast descent into Wallingford. Coming down the steep road the rain fell in sheets, stinging my face and obscuring my view as I hung onto the brakes, trying desperately to control my speed on the steep descent, whilst at the same time get the ordeal over with as quickly as possible. This just wasn’t fun! Coming back out of Wallingford, as if a sign from God, I noticed a small road sign pointing in the opposite direction, stating that it was only 4 miles back to the start. Initially I rode past, and then I slowed, my mind trying to convince my heart that continuing wasn’t a great idea. A few meters further and I’d rolled to a stop. Standing in a muddy field gate, with the rain pouring down, I spent a few minutes contemplating my fate. I was wet, I was cold, there was no chance of drying out and warming up unless the rain stopped, which didn’t look likely, and even if it did, the wind was picking up. Was this really fun? But at the same time, two DNF’s in as many weeks. I’m supposed to be a big tough endurance cyclist, not a scared of the rain, stay at home weakling! As I stood there with the rain dripping down my collar, the cold biting into my wet fingers and toes, and my bike gently rusting beside me, it wasn’t a hard choice to make. 4 miles back to the warmth of the van, or another 90 in the rain. What would you have done, in that situation? I’m still bloody annoyed with myself though. A couple of hours later, the rain had stopped, and the sun made a brief appearance. There’s no doubt about the fact that if I’d just pushed on for another hour or so, I’d have got round, and probably have had a great day with it. The fact is though I made some silly mistakes early on, mistakes that I shouldn't have made. I knew the weather was going to be bad, so why did I leave the washing up gloves which fit well and keep my hands warm and dry under my cycling gloves at home? If I'd started with those on, as I normally would on a wet winter ride, my fingers would never have got wet, or cold. Likewise, I realized Friday night that I didn’t have any plastic bags with me to put between my boots and socks, a neat little trick which is about the only thing I’ve ever found that comes even close to keeping my feet dry(ish). Why didn’t I just go out and get some instead of thinking ‘It’s not that cold, it’ll be alright’. And why the bloody hell didn’t I start in waterproof trousers! There are 3 little things there, which had I acted on them and dressed accordingly, would undoubtedly have meant I’d have finished Saturday's ride, warm, dry, and comfortable. But because I’m an idiot, I ignored all my previous learning, and thought ‘I’ll be fine, it’s only a bit of rain’. Idiot!!!!! Typically, Sunday was a far nicer day with only a couple of light showers in the afternoon, not that that was a lot of help, because there was no cycling planned. We did have other plans though, so there was no lazing in bed, and I was up bright and early with “The Emma” in tow.
Having “The Emma” in tow is unusual in itself, but I needed her assistance, so she was going to have to get up early too. In fact, we were on the road before 08:00 on a beautiful Autumn morning, heading for the South coast. I can hear you all thinking “Ahhh, a romantic day out at the seaside, how nice” but you’d be wrong. Yes, we were having a day out, but we were actually off to look at another car, not sit on the promenade eating jellied Eels and Whelks or build sandcastles. You’ll note that I said “another” there and not “a” because if I’m honest the car situation is getting a bit out of hand now, and this one brings the total to 7 between us. The ironic thing being that I do far more miles a year cycling than I ever do driving. In fact, I hate driving. But “The Emma's” got to have her hobbies too, and I’ve got plans for this one that don’t actually involve driving it for the foreseeable future. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we had a pleasant drive down, spent a couple of hours looking at my latest purchase, went and had some breakfast, and “The Emma” drove the latest acquisition home (see I told you I needed her help). I did offer to drive it home myself and she could drive the van back, but she muttered something about rather having needles poked in her eyes, grabbed the keys out of my hand and was gone! So, in addition to the rest of the fleet (1 camper van, a 206 GTI, a Fiesta ST, 2 Subaru Impreza’s, and a Subaru Brat) we’ve now got a 25-year-old MX5 that just about scraped through its last MOT and is about as likely to pass the next one as I am to fly to the moon under my own power. But that’s not a problem, because my intentions are to drive it until the current MOT expires (or preferably until I’ve finished a couple of other little projects) and then it’s going to be used as the donor car for a kit car project. See, I told you a few months ago I had plans for THIS LITTLE SPACE. |
Paul PerrattOld enough to know better, young enough to still feel invincible, stupid enough to keep on trying the same thing again and again. Cyclist, Gardener, Runner, Hiker, Cook, Woodworker, Engineer, Jack of all trades and master of none, Anti social old git and all round miserable bugger. Archives
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